


I Think You Look Like Giants

by enby-crowley (probablypadders)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, crowley and his love of humanity is my weakness i make no apologies, short and sweet ficlet vaguely inspired by doctor who
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 17:09:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20604329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/probablypadders/pseuds/enby-crowley
Summary: “Why do you spend so much time here?”Crowley waits, feeling her considering her words carefully.“You could go anywhere in the world, do whatever you like on a whim, and yet you and Aziraphale keep coming back to Tadfield. Why is that?”There’s no accusation in her tone, just a burning curiosity. Crowley understands.





	I Think You Look Like Giants

“Crowley, can I ask you something?”

He’s sprawled on his side in front of Anathema, watching Aziraphale and The Them some fifty feet away, and when he doesn’t respond for a few moments she nudges a toe against his back, grinning at the “Oi!” it provokes.

“Go on then, ask away.” he answers with a put-upon sigh, turning onto his back so he can look up at Anathema. Her eyes roll skyward for a moment but there’s an easy fondness to her smile that brings a matching warmth to Crowley’s chest; he’s rather come to enjoy her company since The Little Apocalypse That Couldn’t.

“Why do you spend so much time here?”

Crowley waits, feeling her considering her words carefully.

“You could go anywhere in the world, do whatever you like on a whim, and yet you and Aziraphale keep coming back to Tadfield. Why is that?”

There’s no accusation in her tone, just a burning curiosity. Crowley understands.

He tucks folded arms beneath his head and turns the question over in his mind - he’d never really given it much thought, truth be told, he and Aziraphale had simply come to an unspoken agreement that it felt  _ right _ to continue visiting their accomplices in averting Armaggeddon.

“Well, isn’t that what friends do?” he says after a minute or two.

“Friends.” Anathema echoes, testing the word on her tongue. Crowley leaves her to her thoughts, turns his head to watch Aziraphale for a moment.

“You’ve been alive since the beginning of time itself, and you still make friends with humans? Our lives must seem like a drop in the ocean after everything you’ve both been through.”

Crowley scrunches his nose a little when he turns back to Anathema, wiggles his head in contemplation. The words he wants remain stubbornly out of reach and he trips into a half-baked metaphor instead.

“I suppose it’s kind of like having a dog, a little bit. Sort of? Not in a “we own you” sense, but we know humans aren’t going to live forever and choose to enjoy their companionship for as long as it lasts, in whatever form it might take.” The hint of a smile that’s been playing at the corners of his lips becomes a smirk when he meets Anathema’s eyes. “That’s how Aziraphale got most of his Wilde first editions, you know.”

He watches the words register, understanding dawning along with a hint of disbelief, and Anathema’s gaze slides from the demon laid at her feet to his angelic counterpart who is now brandishing Pepper’s wooden sword in a poor imitation of his own flaming blade, fully engaged in whatever fantastic tale he’s weaving for his young companions.

“He’s not like the other angels.” Crowley continues. “They probably fit the image in your head better - I mean you saw Gabriel, albeit briefly. Power-driven impetuous  _ twats _ , the lot of them, and they don’t care one iota about Earth or humanity, any of it. It’s just an inconsequential part of the Great Plan to them. They don’t see how any of this  _ matters _ .”

Taking a deep breath and letting it escape as a sigh, he reaches out to briefly squeeze Anathema’s knee before letting his hand fall to the blanket beneath them.

“Just because you won’t live for thousands of years doesn’t make you any less of a miracle. You humans are so wonderfully  _ clever _ , you’ve made things of this world that Heaven and Hell couldn’t even dream of. And thanks to you lot specifically, you and Newt, Adam, The Them, the world is still turning and there’s so many  _ possibilities _ .”

He falls quiet, brushstrokes of deep pink colouring the tops of his ears, and thanks Somebody he had his glasses on. He lets his eyes close when Anathema doesn’t offer a response; he can practically hear the gears turning in her mind as she processes his words.

It’s only when she shifts that Crowley opens one eye a slit, eyebrow creeping into his hairline when she lays on her back beside him, and she holds a hand up to squint up at the sky until Crowley plucks a pair of sunglasses from thin air and holds them out. He expects them to fit her face with lenses that exactly match her normal glasses, so they do. She smiles.

“Thank you.” He looks at her and knows she doesn’t just mean the glasses.

“Ehh, don’t mention it.”

They lay together in comfortable silence, human and demon, letting the world pass them by with occasional bursts of laughter ringing out nearby. After a while Anathema curls her hand around Crowley’s where it still lays between them and he smiles, squeezing her fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> i posted this on tumblr a few weeks ago and finally got around to crossposting - you're more than welcome to share headcanons and prompts with me there at @enby-crowley!


End file.
